


Heiress

by readingpower



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Trans Character, they wont play that big of a role but still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readingpower/pseuds/readingpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Haruhi Fujioka, heiress to the Fujioka Law Firm, had been woken by alarm bells more times in her life than she cared to admit. But it was usually a spy or robber being paid millions of dollars, not six boys with nothing more than curiosity. And it was that fact that made her stop her father from calling the police.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Vase Broken Reversed

Haruhi and her father had a lawfully binding arrangement when it came to robbers that slunk into their house in the dark of night, full of cowardly greed or spiteful anger.

It was as peculiar as it sounded, but not as unexplainable nor as unfounded: after Haruhi’s mother fell ill and died, the breaches in security peaked with the get-well cards sent from their competitors. Miniscule, state of the art bugs littered the baskets of well-wishers and Haruhi had seen it for what it was, despite the protective shield her father had tried to cast.

Soon Haruhi stopped giving interviews to magazines who wanted use their grief for profit (her father had never offered a word and her mother, early in her sickness, had stared them down and told them they weren’t welcome). She arranged for every card of condolence and object of pity to be incinerated, even the ones that had no evidence of foul play. Kotoko wasn’t mentioned, and when she was it was only in the vaguest sense. The memory of her faded like dust into the wind.

If Kotoko was like dust then the intruders were mountains: the house soon became known for its high tech gears and hair-trigger alarms. Every spy sentenced to ten years in jail was a chisel gnawing away at the mountainous surface, and the once unsurmountable disaster slowed to a trickle, though the intruders never seemed completely gone.

At eight and nine months she saw one of the ‘heartless’ robbers crying, pleading that she was threatened and that her children needed her. At eight, nine months, and a day Haruhi had gotten her a legal job on the other side of the country.

At eight and ten months she drew up a contract and insisted that her father sign it.

Haruhi was intelligent; she knew that people weren’t above lying to avoid disaster. But she was also patient and observant in a way people thought was past her; she could dissect a person’s motives without thinking and ask questions that startled them into an obvious lie or a hurtful truth. The contract let her decide if they were criminals or victims themselves.

The last break in had occurred a year ago, marked by a big red circle on the calendar that hung in Ryouji’s bedroom; her father had popped open a bottle of sparkling cider in celebration of the landmark. Haruhi had put away her complaints of frivolity and for a night it was just them, a father and his daughter.

The blaring, screeching alarm that was screaming through the house laughed at the idea.

 _Uggg_ , _guess we jinxed it._

Haruhi sat up slowly, the bags under her eyes reaching the tops of her checks. The silk sheet on her bed—usually so light—seemed to weigh her body down, and the cover beneath her clung tightly to her skin.

Muddled voices filled her ears as she woke up, breaking through the sound resistance walls. Her dad’s shrill yet gruff voice was among them. They were yelling (screeching, almost) but they were so far away Haruhi couldn’t hear the words.

It wasn’t hard to find the culprits; all she had to do was follow the yelps and screams until her ears started bleeding. She wasn’t surprised to find herself in front of the first storage room. It would be more aptly called the Captured Spies Room (as that was where they were almost always placed) but ‘first storage room’ caused less questions.

She _was_ surprised to see a blond being crushed under her father’s foot.

“Dad?” she asked, her voice only slightly incredulous. One of the boys who had the luxury of standing mouthed ‘dad’ with the same bemused expression she was wearing.

Ryoji “Ranka” Fujioka, age 35, was the CEO of The Fujioka Law Firm, but couldn’t have fit the stereotype for a business man less. He was notoriously feminine to the point of crossdressing, and easily excited. He could be violent if needed, but he preferred hiding insults in pretty words; cutting statements that people wouldn’t realize had sliced them until later. The blunt show of force was more astounding than the fact that they were being robbed.

Ranka grinned when he caught sight of Haruhi, but stomped down harder than before.

“Sorry for waking you up, Haruhi dear,” her dad simpered sweetly, as if he had caused her consciousness rather than the still screaming bells. “It appears I’ve found some insects to exterminate.”

“Dad,” Haruhi said, her tone resigned yet accusatory, “you know our deal.” She glanced at the blonde below his foot again and felt a moment’s pity. “And if you keep doing that he’ll be able to sue us.”

“Ah, but you know how much I _detest_ vermin sweetie,” Ryoji said, his voice going dangerously low.

“It appears we have had a slight misunderstanding,” a black haired boy spoke up, smiling apologetically. Haruhi rolled her eyes, too tired to hide it.

“I’m already going to interview you all; you don’t need to plead your case.”

The light glinted off the black-haired boy’s glasses, and it seemed almost painful for him to step back and bow in apology. The gesture seemed mocking, though there were no over-dramatics or exaggerated hand gestures. The other boys seemed shocked she wasn’t dead where she stood.

“My apologies,” he said after a second, and Haruhi decided it was his expression. His tone was clipped too, but Haruhi ignored both, resolving that her father was more of an issue than a commoner’s impertinence.

“Dad,” Haruhi said as she walked over, “I can hear you grinding his bones to dust; I don’t care what he did: Get off.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue (he had already opened his mouth) but instead grabbed his wrist and pulled. He went flying, arms wind milling around in an attempt to regain his balance.

“Haruhi—!” her father exclaimed, childish moue contrasting sharply with righteous anger in his eyes.

“I’m going to interview them now,” she interrupted evenly.

“No!” Ranka declared, insistent. “Not this time.”

“No?” Haruhi repeated, not expecting it despite the warning signs. _This is more serious than I thought_. “Why not? It’s what always happens.”

 “Always?” one of the trespassers mimicked. “This time?” the other, identical person next to him said. Haruhi pretended she hadn’t heard.

“They were trying to get into your room, Haruhi!” Ranka growled, and sent a vicious glare to the trespassers. “Jail would be too _good_ for such insects.”

“You’re overreacting,” Haruhi complained, though she took note that all of the robbers were male and her father was notoriously protective before softening her tone. “Did they even realize it was my room?”

Because despite her father’s proclamations of imprisonment, the trespassers lacked any malice in their stances or guilt that hunched their spines. Their outfits were all overly black, to the point of absurdity, and looked to be around Haruhi’s age.

“I didn’t!” The blond wailed, turning to her but not standing up. “I would have _never_ —a princess should never be—”

“I’m not a princess,” Haruhi interrupted duly, purely factual, but the blond’s eyes widened comically in disagreement. Haruhi had no doubt he would have argued had he been given the chance, but another trespasser, the one who had been mockingly polite, covered his mouth.

“Now’s not the time,” he said, somehow making the words sound like a threat. Something her father picked up on.

“Oh, and I suppose you’d blackmail him if he didn’t?” Ranka spit angrily, his phone alit with what Haruhi knew were the files the guards had sent. “It’s seems to be a reoccurring situation for you.”

“Kyoya never blackmailed anyone!” the blond exclaimed, eyes fiercer than when he had been being crushed under Ranka’s foot. “He isn’t that type of person!”

“Oh?” Ranka raised his eyebrows. “The charges against him would disagree.”

“He—”

“Those charges were dropped when the accuser was explained the consequences of lying in court,” Kyoya interrupted, still wearing the too cold smile. “And I have no doubt that even if they hadn’t been dropped, the lack of evidence would have proven me innocent.”

Ranka scoffed, disbelieving, but didn’t deign to drag it out further. Instead he focused his comments on the pair of twins, their side comments apparently too annoying for him to ignore.

“And those two?”

“What do you mean?” the blond asked in confusion. “Hikaru and Kaoru—”

“Were declared guilty of stealing a car and sent to a summer camp for criminal delinquents,” Ranka said in cruel satisfaction, smiling. “In middle school.”

“Dad!” Haruhi exclaimed, aghast, but was unknowingly interrupted.

“Is that—” _true_ , the blond didn’t finish, but his voice was raw with emotions and the twins didn’t answer. They were tightly gripping each other’s hands, and one of them was shaking. The hurt in the blond’s eyes faded away as he noticed the faint tremors, replaced with steely determination. He turned to Ranka resolutely, finally standing.

“I’ve apologized for trespassing, but no matter what Hikaru and Kaoru did, sir, I’d rather hear it from them than from some rich person who’s only trying to hurt them.” His voice was clear and rang through the room, but his eyes were the most striking part of him, slightly narrowed as they were. “Frankly, it’s none of your business.”

Ranka fumed, but Haruhi agreed—and she said as much.

“Dad, he’s right. People who have been guilty of _murder_ have tried to rob us before, and you’ve been more civil with them than these guys. The only reason you don’t want me to interview them is because they were trying to get into my room!”

“You’re too kind to—”

“You’re too overprotective!” Haruhi near shouted, only to take a breath to calm herself. Arguing with her father wouldn’t get them anywhere. ““But if it matters that much to you, a guard can be in the room and you can watch from the surveillance room.”

Ranka stared at her, wordlessly begging her to change her mind, but Haruhi met his eyes and stood her ground. Eventually, her father sighed.

“You aren’t going to back down on this, are you?” he murmured rhetorically.

“I’m not,” Haruhi replied anyway.

“There’s still the issue of what they broke,” Ranka said, reluctant to let any misstep go, but his eyes had the slightest glimmer of pride. “You . . . really are a lot like your mother, Haruhi.”

Haruhi smiled, both at the comparison and his compliance to her wishes.

“Thank you.” She would have continued, but Ranka turned suddenly to the group of trespassers, glare back in place but this time exaggerated to absurdity.

“But if any of you even think about touching my precious Haruhi, I will make sure you end up in jail, got it?”

The boys nodded, some defensive and some fearful, and Ranka turned towards the guards in the corner.

“If any of these insects get within five feet of Haruhi, you are to consider it a threat, understand?” They did, and Ranka left the room with a distrustful glare.  

Haruhi lost the casual posture she had had before, her back straightened but not stiff. Her father may have been acting like she saw the trespassers as blameless victims, but she was not nearly so dull nor naïve. Regardless of any reasoning, the group had broken in and that left something to be desired.

But _why_ had they broken in? Greed? Revenge? Haruhi glanced over them all, picking out a nervous tick in the tallest’s hand as she tried to find the answer.

The tall one was crouching slightly in order to murmur to another ( _he’s even shorter than me!_ ) but he wasn’t getting a response. His partner was staring unabashedly at Haruhi, and though his gaze appeared childish at first glance, the longer Haruhi thought about it the more unsettling it was and soon she turned away.

The one who had been under her father’s foot had the beginnings of a boorish bruise blossoming on his check, but instead of leaving a frightening visage or a pitiable one, it somehow made him seem innocent; as if the he would be as surprised looking in a mirror as someone who saw him in the street. His protectiveness from earlier was gone, replaced with large, puppy-dog eyes that really didn’t belong on someone who might be going to jail before the night ends. It was disconcerting, and after a moment Haruhi took her phone out.

 _Bring an icepack to the first unused storage room please_ , she texted to her oldest made, a girl named Kimiko. Seconds later it pinged with affirmation.

She glanced back up, eyes passing over a black haired boy with a cool gaze that reminded her of her wealthy classmates and settling on the pair of twins.

They had startlingly orange hair and black clothing. All of them were wearing black, she now realized, but none looked so absurd as the blond her father had stepped on. He had every inch of skin possible covered with some sort of dark cloth, and had even gone to the lengths of painting his cheeks black. It would have looked professional if his coat wasn’t puffy and too large, and if his bright blond hair didn’t draw attention to him like a beacon.

The twins, by comparison, looked positively stylish with their black jeans and t-shirts coupled with a simple jacket. She recalled what the blond had called them—Hikaru and Kaoru—and vaguely wondered which was which.

As a whole the group seemed as unusual as their hair colors. But what seemed absurd by themselves somehow became lost in the overall oddness of them combined, leaving the untrue impression that they were perfectly normal.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and without bothering to look at it she spun on her heel and walked to the door, opening it to reveal her maid. Kimiko had seen a lot in her long service of the Fujiokas, but even she blinked at the odd assortment of men in the room.

“Miss?” she asked, resolutely ignoring the others. “I have the icepack you requested.”

“It’s for the blond,” Haruhi responded.

“Which one?”

“Er, the taller one.” She turned towards the others. “What are your names by the way? It’s confusing referring to you by hair color.”

“Ah!” The (taller) blond shot up like a bullet. “How rude of me to not introduce myself to such an exquisite princess! How my heart yearns we could have met under less incriminating circumstances. But alas, not even the most handsome prince can turn back time, and I am but a lowly servant compared to all of your overwhelming beauty.”

Kimiko passed him the icepack without pause, but Haruhi wasn’t as unperturbed.  

_What?_

It wasn’t like he was the first robber to try flirt with her to get out of a punishment, but they were subtle. A deliberate glance to the side, a casual mention of her beauty. Nothing like this.

“—tears at me like man in a lion’s den, yet what a wonderful sacrifice to undertow for such a—”

Haruhi blinked slowly. The bruises on the man’s face were darkening as he spoke, but with the energetic gesturing going on Haruhi wondered if he even needed the ice pack. She waited another few seconds to see if he would say his name, but when he started going off on Roman mythology, she tried to bring the conversation back to topic.

“You do realize I just asked for your name, right?” she asked, part of her actually curious. He froze, a strangled sound escaping from his throat, then walked over to the corner and curled up in a ball, sullenness curling around his shoulders.

_Seriously, what the hell? I was just asking._

Haruhi gave him an odd look before forcing herself to look at the others.

“I . . .” she faltered slightly, recognizing the confusion in her voice and hating it. “I will be interviewing you as a group then as individuals. And this would go a lot smoother if I knew your names without any of you doing,” she waved her hand in the direction of the blonde, “that.”

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi had been taught by private tutors for the majority of her life, and the few joint classes she had gone to only had five people at most. As such, she had always figured that all the fake TV shows with overly loud classroom and incompetent teachers were exactly that—fake. She’d even thought that she would be a good teacher, if she wasn’t destined to take over the Fujioka Law Firm.

Surrounded by so-called high schoolers who belonged in elementary at best, Haruhi realized she wasn’t nearly patient enough.

If it was possible to hear emotions, she would sound like chalk screeching on a chalkboard.

 “—but then Tamaki jumped and—”

“—must’ve sent the wrong thing—”

“—insisted on these ridiculous costumes, really boss, what were you thinking?—”

“—the ground was swampy, but I persevered and—”

“—everyone was running around and it was so hard to see—”

“—must’ve taken an hour just to move from—”

“—is actually really funny, ya see—”

“—quiet chaotic—”

“Hmm,” Morinozuka Takashi grunted, the only person who had yet to say something.

The chalk snapped.

“That’s enough,” Haruhi tried to demand, but the boys were too loud to hear her. “Hey, I said—THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Silence reigned, but its kingdom was threatened by Tamaki’s overblown despair. Haruhi breathed deeply.

“This isn’t working,” she said simply, though her chest felt tense in frustration. “Obviously the group interview isn’t going to work, so we’ll skip to the individuals. My guards will separate you all and I’ll interview you one by one.”

Haruhi sent them all a piercing stare, but even they understood simple annoyance; maybe her sharp words had reminded them of the all-too-real possibility of jail time, because no one said a word.

Two guards walked in from outside, no doubt signaled from her father who was watching in the surveillance room, but Tamaki sent her an awed look as if she had summoned them wordlessly.

_Idiot._

“Hey!” one of the twins shouted, and Haruhi reluctantly looked over; her body took the moment to generously remind her of her lack of sleep.

The twin who had shouted was standing defensively in front of the other, his eyes fiercely angry and slightly fearful. His twin’s hand was on his shoulder, but it wasn’t so much calming as it was possessive; the clothing crinkled where he held onto his brother.

“What are you doing?” the one in front demanded. Haruhi sighed again.

“They’re separating you two,” Haruhi answered. “As I said they would all of a minute ago.”

Both twins frowned, perplexing Haruhi. ( _Did they think they were an exception or something?_ ) They grasped for each other’s hand desperately, like kids at a playground only with more urgency.

“Look,” the more talkative twin started, turning to look at Haruhi, only to be promptly interrupted by Kyoya.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” he said icily, “Haruhi is the sole determining factor in whether we are arrested before the night is out; and in any case I’d like to think you’d rather be apart for five-to-ten minutes rather than five-to-ten years.”

His words, laid out simply like a fact but stated like a threat, quieted the complaints quickly; the twins left, grumbling but very pale. Everyone followed peacefully, and Haruhi took a deep breath.

_Mother, please look after me._

. . . o0o . . .

“Which one are you?” Haruhi asked bluntly to the redhead across from her.

“Can’t you guess?” he returned, his coy tone seemingly intertwined ever-so-slightly with bitterness.

“Technically I could, but you never told me which was which in the first place, so it wouldn’t exactly be fair,” Haruhi replied evenly, only for the other boy’s expression to turn confused.

“You introduced yourselves as Hikaru and Kaoru,” she explained. “You never said which was which.”

The boy blinked, then laughed.

“Guess not.”

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi stared at the new redhead, exactly the same as his twin in appearance except in his hair-part. Her own calmness seemed to infuriate him.

“Did you really steal a car?” she asked, partly to distract him but mostly because she was genuinely interested.

“What?” he asked almost immediately, his voice an odd mix of anger and confusion. A second later he scowled. “That whole thing was out of context.”

Haruhi waited patiently, but the twin stubbornly kept his mouth closed. She sighed.

“Look Hikaru, I—”

“Kaoru,” he cut in.

“Huh?” Haruhi said, not attempting to hide her crinkled eyebrows. He smirked.

“You got it wrong. I’m Kaoru.”

“Funny,” Haruhi said, a smile in her voice that she felt tempted to hide, “your brother claimed the same thing.”

. . . o0o . . .

Takashi Morinozuka, despite the blank-like expression he had had on while the disastrous ‘group interview’ was taking place, looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“You can take your time,” Haruhi mentioned. “Just talk when you’re ready.”

“Ah.”

. . . o0o . . .

Mitsukuni looked at her the same way he had earlier, analytic but not unkind, and Haruhi decide to let him start the conversation: something she rarely did.

After a minute the small boy smiled largely, his spikes replaced with flowers. It was so completely different from his previous look that Haruhi actually blinked.

“Can I call you Haru?” he suddenly asked, his eyes wide and looking like the kid Haruhi had originally mistaken him for.

She said yes, if only because the night couldn’t get any odder.

. . . o0o . . .

Tamaki tried to tackle her as soon as he entered the room, only to blink and suddenly be facing two of Haruhi’s guards.

He paled slightly, glancing over at Haruhi with something akin to fear.

“My father is watching from the video room, remember?” she reminded him. “It would probably be in your best interests to stay at least five feet away from me. My dad is really protective.”

Tamaki’s eyes seemed sad for some reason, but Haruhi ignored it and sent her guards away.

. . . o0o . . .

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Haruhi said, her eyes ice to match Kyoya’s, “that neither you nor Tamaki have last names.”

“Orphans typically don’t,” he replied, using the same tone Haruhi did.

They both stared at each other, eyes slightly narrowed, and Haruhi curtly started the interview.

. . . o0o . . .

“I believe them,” Haruhi announced to her father. “All of their details matched up but not to the point of absurdity.”

“And what exactly would those details be?” he asked in return. It wasn’t a surprising question: he would have been able to hear what they were saying, but his pettiness had probably kept him from paying any attention.

“Apparently, they had been dared to enter an abandoned building by a classmate. Said classmate decided it would be funny to send the wrong address.”

“Does the classmate have a name?”

“Would you be able to hear it without suing them?”

“Good point. But if he’s the one that caused that _thing_ to try to enter your room . . .” Ranka trailed off, his eyes narrowing in anger.

“Exactly why I didn’t say it in the first place. But there is one thing that troubles me.” Ranka glanced over at her curiously and Haruhi took a deep breath. “From what I gather, they were in the 2nd floor main hallway when they broke something.”

Ranka frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “They showed up on the motion sensors.”

“Have you—?”

“I didn’t get a chance.” He paused. “Will it affect what happens to them?”

Haruhi pursed her lips and didn’t answer.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi walked through the hallways surely but silently, her slipper-clad feet not making a sound. She had considered telling the group of six beforehand what she was doing, but she had never been one for unnecessary dramatics. Besides, she wanted to discover this herself and something told her the boys wouldn’t wait calmly while Haruhi found out.

So Haruhi walked the long halls by herself, her heart rate increasing at a worrying pace.

There were only two objects that could shatter the way the boys had described: a vase worth three million yen and a handmade piece of pottery.

It seemed to take hours to reach the right hallway, no matter how large she made her steps. She flicked the light on with ease, the black room suddenly filling with bright light. Usually Haruhi would look away for her eyes to adjust, but at the moment it was the last thing on her mind.

The actual hallway was simple enough, with paintings of flowers and fantastical views lining the wall and a single white console table pushed up against the wall. The table held two bouquets of calla lilies, the vases they were held in older than her father. In between them laid a red hand-made container, and on the floor were the remains of an antique Chinese vase, shattered into millions of pieces.

The pieces ranged from big to just plain dust, and Haruhi could even spot the piece Tamaki had claimed to have gotten a cut from. The beautiful design couldn’t even be made out anymore, and the clear plastic coating could be seen just barely peeking out on some of the pieces. Even with all her money, Haruhi knew it was unfixable.

She could have sung.

Haruhi stretched her hand across the shards, going on her tip-toes to reach the red container and bring it to her chest. Haruhi nearly collapsed in relief when she felt its rough bumps and slight crevices. It was rude and crude and quite frankly ugly, but it was also the first and last piece of pottery her mother had made; it was something wholly, completely, and utterly Kotoko.

The Chinese vase—while moderately expensive—was replaceable. But no amount of money could bring Haruhi’s mother back from the dead.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi hadn’t even taken a single step into the 2nd storage room before she was bombarded with questions.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were going to put us in the same room after the stupid interviews?” the twins were the first to ask. The second twin had adamantly insisted he was also Kaoru, and Haruhi wasn’t sure which one was lying.

“I didn’t think I’d need to,” Haruhi replied honestly. “The only reason you were separated was so none of you would be able to come up with a cover story. Once you were interviewed that was no longer necessary.”

“That’s why you talked to the twins first, right?” Huni—as he had insisted she call him—asked eagerly, looking at her happily. “So they’d be able to be together again?”

“Technically I just wanted to get them out of the way,” Haruhi admitted, surprised he had noticed it at all, “but I suppose it helped.”

Huni frowned, and Haruhi couldn’t help but be reminded of a disappointed parent.

“As fascinating as this is,” Kyoya cut in, his voice saying the opposite of his words, “I’d prefer to know if I have to invest in a lawyer.”

“Well,” Haruhi said slowly, mentally bracing herself for the oncoming slaughter of voices, “I’ve talked to my father, and you have two options. The first is obvious: we call the police and you go to jail.”

“No thanks,” the twins said.

“The second option is this: we don’t call the police, but you agree to pay for the vase you broke.”

More than one person reached for their wallets, but Kyoya stopped them with a simple gesture of his hand. His eyes were suspicious.

“And this vase costs how much exactly?” he asked.

“Three million yen.”

The six men looked at her like she was insane, their eyes almost comically wide. More than one of them looked close to fainting, and Tamaki put a hand on the wall to steady himself. The twins clutched each other’s hand tightly. Huni was coaxing the seemingly-in-shock Mori into sitting down, his own face deathly pale, and Kyoya’s glasses glinted dangerously. None of them seemed able to form a legible response.

“That’s a—you’re not—it’s not actually—” the second twin started, but ended up just staring at Haruhi in silent astonishment. 

“Divided between the six of you, it only comes up to five hundred thousand,” Haruhi added, hoping it would help.

It didn’t. In fact, one of the twin’s golden eyes seemed to smolder in anger, but it was like trying to start a fire with wet cloth: his shock overcame his anger.

“Princess,” Tamaki said, seemingly too surprised to be loud and shaking his head incredulously. “We can’t afford that. It’s impossible!”

“I know.”

“Then why the fuck did you even give us a second option?” the same twin from earlier tried to yell, but it came out more as a whisper.

“Because,” Haruhi said, “I have an alternative.”

“Which is?”

Haruhi bit back the urge to say he would know already if he hadn’t kept interrupting her. She couldn’t exactly blame him for being angry. She would be too. But that didn’t stop her from being curt.

“Work.”       

* * *

 

**A/N 1/1/2017: Hey guys! I've recently been editing and reworking the first few chapter of this story. When I'm done that I'll go on with the story. Sorry for the long hiatus!**

 


	2. Monumental

Immediately, the group of six bursted into complaints. The shock that had kept them quiet had been forced away by self-righteousness and pride. The idea of a school-boy dare turning them into servants was obviously too much to bear, and their loud screams and stomps vibrated through the floor. She could feel it in her feet.

Haruhi was more than patient enough to wait until they had all screamed themselves hoarse before explaining away their concerns, but she didn’t get a chance. Kyoya—who she was starting to think of as the leader of the group—silenced them with, oddly enough, a smile.

“Before you all get hyped up on your own idiocy,” he said, and Haruhi saw more than one person shiver and go pale, “remember that if someone else was the one to catch us trespassing, we would be going to jail with no questions asked. The fact that Haruhi has graciously allowed us to continue without even notifying the police, and only asked us to pay for something which we broke, is a miracle in its own. But of course, don’t let mere facts ruin your tantrum.”

There was silence, and then Tamaki made a whining noise in the back of his throat. Apologizes starting spewing out of his mouth at an abnormal rate. One red-head mimicked Kyoya’s speech while the other got on his knees and started groveling in a crude mockery of Tamaki’s now tearful deploration. Neither said a word, but it was so ridiculous and overdone that Haruhi had to hide a snort.

Feeling childish, Haruhi cleared her throat. The antics fell to a stop.

“I recognize that this may not the most convenient for you,” she started, “but I wasn’t lying when I said the other option was jail. If any of you have a job already you may continue it, but I am willing to offer a place working here for those who do not. I will need to speak each of you in turn to form your contracts and work out the details, but I will most likely pay you for the individual chores you do rather than the hours you work. If there are any personal issues you have that will interfere with your ability to work you will need to tell me, as well as any allergies you have.

“Whether you inform your parents—” Haruhi remembered Kyoya’s comment about being orphans. “—or guardians about this is up to you, but I will not participate in any lie you come up with. If asked, I will tell them the truth to the best of my ability, but I will not actively seek them out.

“Shall you choose to work for me, there would be a uniform: either blue plants, a white undershirt, and a black overcoat, or a dress and tights with similar colors. That said, there will be no discrimination of gender, meaning if you see a man wearing the dress or a girl wearing pants you either say nothing or find another way to pay me back. My father insisted on this rule, but I will enforce it gladly. The only time you will not have a choice of uniform is when there are guests.

“All of this is only if you decide to work under me, of course. And before that, if you choose to pay off your debt rather than go to jail,” Haruhi finished, too used to public speaking to be out of breath.

“Soooo,” the twins drawled after a pause. “Did you practice that in a mirror, or . . . ?”

“. . . Why would I practice telling six intruders what would happen if they ended up working for me to pay off a debt they got because they broke an antique vase?” she asked, her brows crinkling. She was about to ask what a mirror had to do with anything—(she’d hire an acting coach, if nothing else)—but didn’t get a chance.

“So you naturally talk like you’re on a debate team?” the twin on the right asked, his lips twitching dangerously.

“That’s hilarious!” the other crowed, bursting into laughter and leaning into his brother, who was roaring just as loud—or louder, if such a thing was possible. Haruhi flushed, and she wasn’t sure if it was from indignation or embarrassment.

“I’ll have you know that most consider me blunt!” she insisted, the words cutting through their laughter.

“On what planet!” one started, and the other finished, “They _have_ to be insane!”

“Stoppit!” Tamaki suddenly shouted, gliding between the two and Haruhi and throwing his finger into the air dramatically. “I refuse to allow you to make fun of such a lady!”

“Oh really?” they chanted together.

“I seem to recall you were trying to break into that ‘lady’s’ room,” Lefty said, and somewhere past her embarrassment Haruhi wished they had told her their names.

“Yeah,” his brother agreed, “are sure you don’t just want her to run into your arms?”

“And maybe finish what her dad was implying?”

Tamaki blushed, both from the suggestion and his own embarrassment, and swirled his finger over to them. He immediately started spouting denials and excuses, but the twins cheerfully ignored him, instead chanting “He’s a pervert! He’s a pervert!” with joyful abandon.

Their words seemed muddled to Haruhi. The twins’ suggestion was ringing in her mind, and the sheer inconceivability of how they were acting—and how different it was from only a few minutes ago—made her light-headed.

_Do they even realize what I just told them? Are they in denial?_

Denial or not, one thing was abundantly obvious: Haruhi wasn’t in control. She didn’t understand why they were acting so burden-free, why any sense of anger had been wiped away so quickly, why they weren’t the slightest bit suspicious of her too-good-to-be-true offer.

Thoughts whirled in her head, coming and going before she realized they were there, and when one snatched onto her conscious she followed it without thinking.

Heart pounding dizzily, she turned and walked out of the room.

The three rowdiest were being too loud for anyone to hear her open the door, but they sure as hell heard her slam it, her emotions running away from her in one of the only ways they knew how.

Much more gently, Haruhi rested her back against the wood, closing her heavy eyelids tiredly.

“M-Mrs. Fujioka—” one of her guards stuttered, his modulated voice obviously surprised to see her in such a state. And a state she was.

Without even looking she knew her cheeks were bright red ( _so this is what it feels like to blush_ ) and her hair had probably gotten ruffled when she had dragged her hand through it earlier. Not to mention her closed eyes and the fact that she was slowly falling down the door.

She stood up hastily, wondering what had gotten into her.

“Please send them to me one by one so I can form their contracts with them,” she asked, trying to hold onto her dignity. He—or she (the guard’s information was kept so private that no one knew their gender except for Ryoji)—hesitantly nodded, and his or her partner started to reach for the door knob. Haruhi grabbed their arm before she knew what was happening.

The guards looked as surprised as someone with a mask on could, but it paled in comparison to Haruhi’s own shock.

For a second she thought about playing it off as hypertensive nerves, but then she thought more and realized: Screw it all to hell.

“Give me five minutes first,” she asked pleadingly, looking where she guessed their eyes were. “ _Please._ ”

They shared a glance, then stepped back into their previous positions.

“Thank you,” she said graciously, before a feeling of discomposure hit her. “I haven’t been getting that much sleep and it must have affected me more than I thought,” she hurried to explain.

 _And,_ Haruhi mulled disappointedly, _I probably won’t get_ any _tonight. I may even be behind schedule by the time I’m finally done negotiating all the contracts._

“I’ll be talking to them in the same place I interviewed them,” she mentioned as an afterthought. The guards nodded.

. . . o0o . . .

By the time five minutes have passed Haruhi had successfully pulled a foldable table and two plastic chairs from the back closet. She hadn’t bothered earlier because people grew suspicious if you treated robbers like friends, but her thighs were starting to ache from standing so stiffly for so long. If any of them mentioned the furniture’s lackluster appearance, Haruhi would simply chalk it up to the lack of time and their intruder status.

Once again, she wondered if they even realized they were still intruders.

A serious person by nature, Haruhi couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of someone joking around when only minutes earlier they had been told of an enormous—to them at least—debt. They were acting as if there was nothing wrong—as if there was no chance in the world Haruhi had lied! It was as if—

 _Oh,_ Haruhi realized, and stopped her rant short, _no one’s ever taught them to think that the person next to them is going to stab them in the back._

Haruhi’s parents hadn’t taught her such a thing, but she had seen it. Seen it in the way her classmates faked smiles, how a waiter was fired because someone threw a hissy-fit, in the cards sent with cameras after her mother’s death. Not to mention the stock market where dealers were equipped with knives before entering.

No, Haruhi’s parents didn’t teach her anything: she taught herself.

Perhaps that’s why she was so surprised when Kyoya walked into the room alone and announced he had been trusted with _all_ of their contracts.

She didn’t bother to hide the fact that she looked at her guards for confirmation, and he didn’t bother to hide the smirk when they nodded.

Together they decided this:

They would determine their own hours, but inform her at least three days in advance.

They would be paid by the chores they do instead of the hours, and every act had a different payment. Haruhi knew her offers of payments were more generous than most, and as such knocked down any attempt to make them go higher.

They would wear the uniform, as well as name tags.

They would all continue to work until the debt was fulfilled instead of each working until they paid their part.

Most importantly, the contract only lasted three months, at which point a new one would be formed.

Other things were also discussed and analyzed with vigilant eyes, which Haruhi wrote down a pad of paper. She had Kimiko bring in her laptop, and Kyoya read over her shoulder as she wrote out the contract. Occasionally he commented and frequently he advised phrasing it in a different way—a way that was more beneficial for him—but mostly he simply watched.

Pure determination was the only thing that kept her from fidgeting.

. . . o0o . . .

Kyoya was the one who lead them back to the second storage room, and Haruhi doesn’t bother mentioning the absurdity of it all. She was starting to think her absurdity was just a commoner’s normal.

“Will the others be waiting for you,” she asked after a minute of silence, the printed contract rolled up in her hands, “or will they have asked my guards to send them home?”

Kyoya glanced back at her, and Haruhi got the oddest feeling that he wanted to laugh.

“What makes you think I’ll know?”

“Aren’t you the leader?” she asked instead of answering, and now he _definitely_ wanted to laugh.

“Be careful not to tell Tamaki you said that. He is the leader: not me. I am more of a vice president so to speak,” Kyoya said, but his smile told Haruhi something else.

“Odd terms for friends,” she commented after a moment.

“We are in a club over at Ouran High School. Those are simply our positions.”

“Even outside of the club?”

“I believe I now understand why people call you blunt.”

There was a hint of ice in the voice that clearly told Haruhi the discussion was over, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

_I wonder if he realizes it wasn’t an insult. But still, for them to trust him enough to let him form a legally binding contract for them . . ._

Haruhi studied her companion, his features closed off. He walked with a certain sort of confidence that she couldn’t place.

_I wonder if any of them realize how monumental that is._

Her guess was no, and it was proven right when they all signed the contract without so much as glance at its contents.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi sat on her bed that night, her phone comfortably in her hands. The boys had been offered a ride home by her chauffer, a tall, gangly man by the name of Gyo, but they had declined the invitation. Apparently, a group of girls were waiting for them to come back from their dare-gone-wrong.

She clicked a plain white app, putting in the second password in without a fault. It was a bit of an overkill, considering the device was altered so that it would only work for her fingerprints, but if there was one thing she had learned in her life, it was that no protection was too much.

But her father was the one that insisted on being sent information about any and every robber. With a click of a button they would both know everything there was to know about the person. She could know their likes, dislikes, familial connections, jobs, criminal records, friends, weaknesses, and strengths.

Haruhi marked them all as read before proving her prediction of no sleep wrong.

She preferred learning people as people, not as documents.

. . . o0o . . .


	3. Like it Never was Before

It was their first day of work.

The thought was consistently at the back of Haruhi’s mind, long before any of them even showed up, and she didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like they were the first people who had come to work for her—Keizo the cook had that privilege—or that they were particularly important, no offense to them.

 _It must be because there are six of them,_ she decided, and tried to push the thought from her mind. It was semi-successful, until she started making their breakfast. Usually she let Keizo make any food for her or her guests, but while he was gifted in making the most flamboyant fillets and transcendental truffles, adding dry bits of sugary wheat and milk together in a bowl was way past his experience.

Just as she was scraping eggs onto a serving plate the doorbell rang, and she hurried to answer it. The six of them stood there, looking battered down and miserable in their worn-down old jeans and over-stuffed coats. Without waiting for an invitation they pushed past her, barely pausing to half-heartedly thank her. Annoyed, Haruhi glared at their backs.

“God damn,” Hikaru complained obliviously, rubbing his arms, “why does it have to be so cold?”

“Don’t be so crude in the presence of a princess,” Tamaki admonished, frowning sharply. Hikaru rolled his eyes, an action mimicked by Haruhi. Before she could hear his response her vision blurred, something slamming into her strongly enough to knock her breath away.

“Haru!” someone shouted into her ear, “I’m so excited we get to work! Will there be cake? I hope there is. My favorites are chocolate and strawberry, but I like vanilla too. Which one is your favorite? I bet it’s something fancy.”

“Uh . . . strawberry, actually,” Haruhi responded awkwardly, finally connecting the voice to Huni and gently placing him on the ground. She turned to the rest of the group. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you want it.”

“Is there any cake?” Huni chirped, and Haruhi briefly wondered why he was so insistent on the object.

“Not now, but you can ask Keiko to make some for lunch—he’s my cook,” Haruhi explained at their confused expressions. Huni’s eyes suddenly lit up dangerously.

“Only one,” Mori said, his voice grave. Huni pouted, and Haruhi ushered them all into the kitchen, privately thinking the whole affair seemed a bit overdone. Within minutes silver forks clinking against the plates. As they ate, Haruhi explained their jobs a bit more in details.

“Unlike most jobs, here you’re going to be paid in what you do instead of hours. Because of that, I made a working chart. Pretty much, you need to get me, my dad, or Kimiko to sign off, proving you actually did the job. If more than one person helps you’ll both be paid for it.”

“Question,” Kaoru interrupted, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of toast. “Who’s Kimiko?”

“She’s my maid,” Haruhi explained with patience. “She’ll be the one showing you the ropes. Speaking of which, your phones should be arriving—”

“Phones?” Tamaki repeated, his voice a mixture of confusion and excitement.

“That was not in the contract,” Kyoya cut in icily.

“I know,” she admitted easily. “But these phones are specially made. I can’t just alter yours to fit them.”

“What’s so special about them?” Hikaru asked curiously, his twin looking over his shoulder

“Pretty much, I have a phone just for my employees. Due to security reasons, the only way to call said phone is with the complementary ones I was talking about.”

“I fail to see why this was not mentioned earlier,” Kyoya insisted, no longer pretending to smile. “Were issues such as these the reason we had a contract brought up in the first place?”

“No,” Haruhi said bluntly. “The contracts were for your own specific cases. There are more broad rules that everyone has to follow; the cell phones are one of them.”

“When were you planning to mention these ‘broader rules’? Did it cross your mind that they might affect our decision? We are now in a legally binding contract—one I had thought had been made in complete awareness—and we can’t back out. If we find ourselves unhappy due to previously-omitted conditions, there is nothing we can do.”

“They’re not that bad,” she said defensively, but a combination of his glare and her own burned pride made it come out weaker than intended. Frowning, she added, “You were going to find out about them today anyway.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Haruhi paused, brows furrowing as she tried to recall his exact words. Just as she decided that yes, she had answered his question, Kyoya’s expression changed. He had seemed angry before, but now his very essence seemed to be made of something past evil. Without even saying a word, Haruhi’s thoughts were suddenly filled with all the ways she could die inconspicuously, as clear as if someone had explained every gruesome detail with utmost perfection and clarity.

Haruhi shuddered, her words dying in her throat.

After that breakfast passed by in awkward silence, and even though she had already eaten Haruhi found herself pouring herself a small bowl of cereal to occupy her hands. Her well-trained fingers kept her utensils from clinking against the porcelain, but the others had been taught no such skill, and with every ‘clang’ Haruhi had to keep herself from flinching.

“Hey!” Hikaru suddenly exclaimed, looking at something behind Haruhi in amazement, Kaoru looking just as excited. “What’s that?”

“A camera.”

“. . . What?”

“A camera,” Haruhi repeated, looking up from her food. She looked at the two in a new light. “I’m surprised you noticed: it’s meant to blend into the wall. Even I miss it sometimes.”

The twins gaped at her for a second, looking so utterly bewildered that Haruhi wondered if she had something crude. Just as she was about to make sure she hadn’t accidentally mixed up where the cameras were, a light and airy giggle filled the room.

“I think Hika and Kao were just trying to play a joke on you,” Huni piqued up, a wistful yet childish look on his face. “They didn’t actually see anything.”

“Oh,” Haruhi said, the twins’ embarrassed expressions confirming his theory. “So you didn’t see it?”

“There’s nothing to see!” Hikaru cried, Kaoru a second behind him with, “That wall is blank.”

“No, it isn’t,” Haruhi insisted, glancing behind her. A second later her eyes focused on the cleverly hidden device. It wasn’t advisable to show them any of the security measures, but she had already told them it was there, and as far as security went cameras were pretty standard . . .

“I’ll show you,” she said decisively, taking out her (personal) phone. After a few swipes, a clear picture of the kitchen with them in it was shown, which she deftly showed the others.

Within a second all of them—not just the twins but Tamaki and Huni too, and even Mori was looking at it quizzically—were crowding the screen, pushing and screaming to see it better. With a jump, Haruhi dropped it on the table, backing away as the rest tried to simultaneously look at the tablet and make funny faces at the camera.

_Seriously, what is wrong with them?_

Haruhi drooped her shoulders, bringing a hand up to massage her temples in exasperation.

“Is there something wrong?”

Haruhi jumped up at the sound, head jerking to her phone. Only now did she notice the lack of a glasses-toting brunette.

“I presume there are cameras in every room?” Kyoya continued when she didn’t answer. She nodded numbly.

It was Tamaki, surprisingly, who heard them, pausing where he was and glancing over to them.

“Wait,” he said slowly, his eyebrows cinched together in confusion, “if you have all these cameras, why were we able to get in so easily?”

_Well, I’m already being lax with security . . ._

“Mostly, it was to get you far enough into the house so that the doors could lock before you escaped. But it also lulled you into a false sense of security.” Haruhi noticed everyone else had fallen silent to hear her answer, and she took the chance to pick up her phone.

“Now that that’s settled, you can get dressed and I’ll go get Kimiko.”

“But I’m not done eating!” Kaoru exclaimed.

“You’ve had almost an hour just to eat; if you didn’t actually eat then it’s your fault.”

Hikaru and Kaoru shared a look Haruhi had a half a second to consider terrifying before Kaoru’s eyes were suddenly large and dewy, his entire body limp in his brother’s arms.

“Oh, Hikaru,” he breathed, “what am I going to do? You always tease me about my weight; what if I no longer meet your expectations due to this malnutrition? I’d hate to lose you.”

Kaoru glance up tearfully at his brother, and Hikaru carefully lifted his chin so their eyes met, his gaze loving.

“Stupid Kaoru,” he gently admonished, “you could never lose me. Even if you ran a thousand miles, I’d always meet you.” Hikaru lips twitched playfully, and his grip tightened on his brother. “You’d be such a naughty boy, running away like that. It’s like you want to be punished.”

“H-Hikaru!” Kaoru stuttered, looking away as much as Hikaru’s grip allowed. “Don’t say such things. It’s embarrassing!”

“Oh, Kaoru,” Hikaru whispered, easily bringing their gazes back together. They feel silent, no longer needing words.

Haruhi wasn’t saying anything either, but for a much different reason. She was staring shell-shocked at the twins, still trapped in each other’s embraces. Try as she might, her mind refused to compute with what it had just witnessed.

_Is this a . . . commoner thing? Tamaki did something sort of similar, didn’t he?_

Slightly more composed with the (not-actually)-reasonable explanation, Haruhi glanced back at Kaoru’s plate.

“Well,” she said dryly, cutting between the twins’ tension as if it didn’t exist, “if toast, eggs, and bacon is considered malnourished, I’ve been using the word wrong. It might explain whatever that was though.”

. . o0o . . .

True to her word, Haruhi quickly handed the six over to Kimiko, but first she gave them their uniforms. Dressed in the expensive vests, imported shoes, and sleek black pants it was almost possible to mistake them for people of a higher class. The golden nametag on their chests was the only thing that gave them away as simple employees, at least as long as they stayed quiet.

Haruhi didn’t dawdle around for their training, but she glanced at one of the twin’s nametag (“Hikaru”) before she left.

Try as she did to hide it, not knowing who was who annoyed her to no ends.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi steadily worked through the pile of papers that had accumulated over the past few days. Work was always more stressful after an attempted robbery—the fact that it was an accident didn’t change anything. She’d still had to deal first with them and then the aftermath, even if said aftermath was different than usual. Not that there was a ‘usual’ when dealing with cunning killers and not-so-subliminal spies, but her new employees were irregular, even by her standards.

But thankfully they were also compliant—at least in the sense that they were unconcerned with the three million yen debt they had. Their situation had been dealt with quickly, much quicker than she had expected actually. There was still a slight back-up in her work, but nothing compared to what she was used to. Paper by paper she read, negotiated, and signed the reluctantly shrinking piles.

Soon lunch time rolled around, and after a glance at the significantly smaller stack next to her, Haruhi decided it was high time for lunch.

The loud barrage of voices that assaulted her ears made her regret her decision.

Haruhi was just about to go turn around and ask Kimiko to bring some food to her room, and had even turned on her heel to do so, when something suddenly tackled her from behind.

“Haru!” Huni chirped cheerfully into her ear. Haruhi wasn’t sure whether to be happy his small statue had kept her guards from acting or upset. “You’re house is huge! I’ve never seen a house with five floors before.”

“What are you talking about?” Haruhi asked, a crick in her neck twinging when she tried to look at him. “And could you get down?”

“I’m talking about your house,” Huni repeated happily, jumping off her back only to use his momentum to spin her in a circle.

“But my house only has three floors,” she responded dizzily, her vision spinning as Huni finally started to slow down.

“Nuh-uh!” Huni insisted. “We saw all five.”

“Well, we have an attic and a basement, but it’s still only three floors.”

“Haruhi,” Huni articulated cautiously, a look of friendly concern on his face, “three floors plus one attic plus one basement equals five floors.”

“I know what three plus two is,” Haruhi said offended, “but the attic and basement don’t count: I only have three floors.”

“Haruhi,” Huni said slowly, as if she hadn’t understood the first time, “there are five floors.”

Haruhi, quickly realizing this conversation wasn’t going anywhere fast, only sighed. She turned to the others.

“So, how was—” She started, only to stop short, her gaze resting on Hikaru’s ( _Kaoru’s?_ ) chest. Whoever it was glanced down then smirked.

“I know I’m hot and everything, but—”

“You changed nametags.”

“. . . What?” he said, and this time his brother joined him.

“You changed your nametags,” Haruhi repeated, finally looking up and noticing their fringes. “And you hair? What’s with that?” She reached up to the closest twin’s hair, going to maneuver it so it resembled his earlier left part, but before she could he jumped back as if he had been burned.

“. . . Are you okay?” Haruhi asked, but neither responded and she went on. “You keep changing your names and I can’t tell which name is a lie and which isn’t. So, who’s who?”

Her question—asked in complete innocence and genuine curiosity—must’ve struck something in the twins. Their dumbfounded and shocked expressions disappeared, replaced with brazen looks of defiance, their eyes glaring. Haruhi mildly thought this game of theirs was getting tiringbefore her own eyes narrowed.

_Fine, if you don’t want to tell me . . ._

She raised her hand and pointed to the one on the right. “Loud One.” And the left. “Quiet One.” If possible, their glares got harder.

“Neither of us are quiet,” they deadpanned together.

“Yeah, but Loud One talks more and I can’t be bothered to come up with something more creative.”

They gave her a look of absolute disgust, as if Haruhi was something nasty they had gotten on their shoe, then turned on their heel and left, presumably back to Kimiko.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi continued calling them loud one and quiet one, even as the continuously tried to confuse her by doing everything the same. Everything from the words to their actions seemed pertinaciously planned, perfectly in unison and after a few day their voices started sounding the same—and Haruhi knew it wasn’t a problem with her hearing.

And yet Haruhi continued to call the same one loud and the other one quiet, even when Huni rubbed his eyes and wondered if he needed glasses. Both of the twins got progressively more and more tense and Haruhi couldn’t honestly say she was surprised when one of them blew up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screamed, even with Kyoya glinting his glasses at him. “We’re doing the exact same fucking thing, how can you tell us apart?”

“It’s just obvious to me,” Haruhi replied calmly, thinking it would be wise not to mention she was more confused at how no one else could tell them apart than the other way around. “If I want to take over this company I have to be observant; it was only a matter of time before I knew.”

“But it doesn’t make sense!” the other twin screamed, and Haruhi physically recoiled when she saw the tears in his eyes, temporarily going speechless.

“What’s so different about you?” The first one screamed, his eyes looking furious and terrified and (Haruhi couldn’t help but think) exhilarated.

“Our own mom can’t tell us apart!” the other screeched, his eyes matching his brothers but his voice cracking.

“I . . .” Haruhi didn’t know how to finish, because she had always assumed they changed their names to be stubborn and difficult, and she wrong, so wrong it was laughable. This—whatever _this_ was—was much more than some petty whim. It was humongous, and it had taken Haruhi too long to figure that out.

Everyone was silent, even Kimiko in the corner, who was fingering her walkie-talkie nervously. Somehow Haruhi managed to sign the letter N at her side, twisting it sharply to gain Kimiko’s attention. Haruhi fervently hoped she understood, but she didn’t dare look over to check.

“You asked me what was wrong with me,” she said slowly, looking into their eyes, “but I can’t help but wonder something similar.” Her voice turned wondering, the sudden intensity behind it surprising even her. “Why is it so important to you that I can’t tell you apart?”

Their eyes widened ever so slightly, and Haruhi had a feeling she said something more important than she had realized.

Haruhi slowly looked from one twin to another—from Hikaru to Kaoru—before she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second as if it pained her. When she spoke her voice was calm.

“If you truly want me to stop, tell me now and I will.”

Silence, before they stormed out once again.

. . . o0o . . .

The next day the twins were at her house long before she even thought of waking. By the time she was fully conscious and walking down the step they looked so jittery Haruhi wouldn’t have been surprised if they had both jumped on her right then. She had no doubt they would have stormed into her room if it wasn’t for the expensive, highly complex locks she kept on the door.

But now she was awake, if not exactly picture-perfect, and the three of them sat around the tea cups Kimiko had served them. The twins didn’t touch theirs, too busy holding each other, but Haruhi’s was warming her hands, her knees tucked beneath her.

“I’m Kaoru,” the one on the left blurt out, and a second later his—Kaoru’s—hand tightened on his brother’s—Hikaru’s. Neither of them look at her, and so didn’t see Haruhi hide her smile behind her cup.

“I’m guessing you want me to stop calling you quiet one them?” she teased lightly, courteously pretending not to see the way their shoulders relaxed.

. . . o0o . . .

The majority of the host club was kind enough not to mention the twins’ early arrival, and Tamaki was the only one who stupidly (or perhaps smartly?) mentioned the lack of tension between the three youngest.

“So,” he said cautiously, glancing between Hikaru and Kaoru leaning on the counter to Haruhi sitting on the couch. There were the beginnings of a smile on his face as he hopefully asked, “You made up?”

“Not exactly,” Hikaru said arrogantly, making almost everyone blink, Haruhi most of all. He pushed off the counter and Kaoru continued his thought effortlessly.

“It’s more like—”

“—we stopped resisting—”

“—and gave into temptation,” they finished, matching smirks showing just how well-given their “Twin Devils” nickname was.

“T-t-temptation!” Tamaki screeched, a thought echoed by Haruhi. But before she could dwell on it two identical arms laid themselves of her shoulders.

“Uh-huh,” Kaoru idly said, toying with a piece of her hair.

“It was kind of obvious,” Hikaru said just as nonchalantly. Neither of them bothered looking at their self-proclaimed king, who was steadily growing redder in the face. Instead, Hikaru leant in close to her, as if to whisper a secret no one was allowed to hear but her, and just to rub salt into the open wound Kaoru nuzzled into her neck.

“H-How dare you touch Haruhi like that!” Tamaki exploded finally, his arms gesturing outrageously as he tried to form coherent sentences. “A girl is meant to be treasured and loved, not—not—not whatever you’re doing!”

“And what exactly are we doing, _boss_?” Hikaru asked teasingly.

“Kyoya!” Tamaki screamed after another few seconds of flustering, looking away from Haruhi to paw at his friend’s shirt. “Do you see what those two devils are doing to our daughter? They are defacing her pure innocence! We have to stop them!”

“We,” Kyoya stated icily, “do not need to do anything. And may I ask when we somehow managed to defy obvious genetic impossibilities and conceived a daughter? One who, I may add, is only one year our junior.”

 _Mom, you’re entitled to all the breaks you want, but I_ really _need you to watch over me at the moment. I’m starting to think I’m surrounded by lunatics._

“Wouldn’t that mean you had sexwhen you were only a year old?” Huni piped up, his eyes large and innocent. “And I didn’t know you were a bisexual, Tamaki.”

_You know what? Screw the think part. These people belong in an insane asylum._

. . . o0o . . .

That night, Haruhi sat in her work room—a barren sort of room, whose most interesting features were the almost wall-length windows that faced northwards and an old wooden desk—when she heard a single ding.

Reflexively she looked at her work phone, but it laid quietly next to her papers. She was confused for a second before she remembered her employee phone, which in hindsight was actually quite obvious. She must have been more tired than she had thought. But to be fair, she was still getting used to using her second phone so often. Except . . .

Haruhi reached into her pocket, pulling out the sleek black phone with more hast than normal, and just as she brought it to her face it started to ring, the usually uniform beeps now seeming cold and lifeless. Her heart turned to stone, sinking to her toes as her face grew pale.

_Except Kyoya handles all their work schedules and he always calls when he gets off at school._

It was midnight, and the blinking screen laughed at her.


	4. Never Ever Fail

Haruhi’s real room was a sanctuary.

She had two rooms, to be technical, and ironically enough it was her ‘fake’ room that she spent the most time in, but it wasn’t truly _her_ room. One of the first things she had learned about social interaction is that people didn’t like being denied access to anything, especially when it was something as mundane and ordinary as a bedroom. Haruhi had been the butt of more than a few undesirable rumors before she had the epiphany of creating a fake room.

Her fake room was way more robust and grandiose than almost anything else Haruhi owned, complete with a queen sized bed that had overstuffed sheets and too many pillows, a soft see-through curtain surrounding it for modesty. A white bookshelf was by its side, the barest hint of pink just barely shining through the paint if you looked hard enough. Opposite the bed was a large TV for convenience, and the closet was almost the same size as the room itself. No matter who you were, you were almost guaranteed to find something you could applaud in the lordly room.

It was (highly) troublesome, but her second room wasn’t truly _her_ room, nor was it meant to be.

That was what the original room was for.

Her ‘true’ room, despite its slightly larger interior, was completely simple, and even lackluster to a degree. It came equipped with a small kitchen and bathroom, as well as a well-worn bed with an even more-worn blanket on it. Besides necessities, the room was decidedly bare, like a contract that was only half-written.

Whenever a particularly difficult decision or some long, tedious project started becoming physically painful she would escape to her room, calming herself with the simplicities. Something about the repetitive, routine systems reminded her that there would always be things that were what they appeared to be, even if nothing else ever was. Having something completely separate from her everyday life was relaxing. Of course, the mini-room between the hallway and her actual room that had nothing but security in it also helped.

But when the man over the phone said in stern, gruff tones that he believed this conversation would be best held in a place no one could hear, that was exactly where she went.

Yoshio Ootori was not the type of person you denied easily, personal feelings be damned.

Haruhi’s slippers slapped against the floor as she walked, a soft pit-pat that sounded more innocent than she felt at the moment. She didn’t announce when she finally entered her room, but Yoshio started talking the second she passed over the premises. Somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that omitting this particular room from the customary bug-checks—omitting it from politics—might have not been the best idea.

“I would like to schedule a meeting with you,” he said, quiet like a viper before it strikes. “Is that alright?”

_Said as if I had a choice._

“Of course,” she said, her voice soft and hard, but she was barely holding back her comment of, _Because this is definitely normal protocol for a just-as-normal meeting, correct_?

There was a pause over the line, as if Yoshio could understand what she had thought and disliked it, before he went on.

“I will send a car to pick you up this Friday at 10: 30 in the morning. I have checked to make sure you are free at that time, so don’t bother to lie. The meeting will be over by 11: 00. You will tell anyone who asks you that you have a meeting with Toichi Sota to insure the continued peace between your two companies. You will dress as such.”

There was silence, and she realized he was waiting for her to concur. But Haruhi didn’t like being pushed around at the best of times, and now was far from a best time. The once-calming objects now made her—No . . . being pushed in a place she went to get _away_ from being pushed made her infuriated.

“And what if someone asks Mr. Sota about his meeting with me?” she asked curtly, forcing herself to remember all the rumors about the Ootori patriarch to keep her tongue in check, but she had never put much stock into rumors and her words came out clipped. Frowning, she tried again. “I’m sure you can get him to lie, but people would notice that he’s not in a meeting.”

“It has been taken care of,” Yoshio said, and Haruhi reminded herself of Domini Zali, an Italian business man that had disappeared exactly three months after accidentally insulting Mrs. Ootori.

“All right then,” she said calmly, despite her glare, “I will see you on Friday.” She was just about to press the end call button when Yoshio called out to her, his voice quiet once again.

“Oh, and Haruhi? It would be best for no one besides the two of us to know of this arrangement. The world is becoming a dangerous place, don’t you agree?”

The line went dead, and for all her eloquence and poise—or perhaps because of it—Haruhi felt an icy cold stab of fear in her stomach and suddenly anger was the last thing on her mind.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi’s week started out more chaotic and cluttered than she could remember her life ever being, even including the aftermath of her mother’s passing. (Though, if she were to be honest with herself, that time was not that chaotic at all. It was only after the spies started filtering in that it could even be considered stressful.) But at that time she was constantly pulling at her hair and gnawing her nails to nibs, a fretful sort of unsureness that was much different from the almost carefree annoyance that plagued her when she was around her newest employees. Not to say it wasn’t stressful.

Monday was filled with endless cries of “Haruhi!” held out to differing degrees. It seemed that everywhere she went the host club was there to bombard her with questions and complaints. While she had expected it to a certain extent (new employees tended to have questions, after all) Haruhi wondered why she had to be told that by not having an indoor bowling alley she had destroyed Tamaki’s belief in rich people, and more importantly, what it had to do with his job. But the sulking fit he threw when she voiced that was nothing compared to the next day

On Tuesday her French tutor came over, and suddenly Tamaki was sprouting out the language so fast the only word Haruhi got from it was ‘je suis’. His blue eyes were so energetic and excited that all the members of the host club had varying degrees of sympathy when Haruhi deadpanned that she had only started French that year and couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying.

“Ouch,” Hikaru murmured as Tamaki huddled crying in the corner. Kaoru nodded in agreement, before they both went over to terrorize him.

On Wednesday, Tamaki announced sorrowfully that tomorrow their break ended, but don’t worry your poor, maidenly heart: every waking moment—and even those spent asleep!—would be filled with thoughts of her lovely image. As flamboyant as his display was, her, “Please don’t do that, it would be creepy. Besides, Kyoya already told me,” sent him spiraling into his designated corner with equal despair.

On Thursday, it was quiet.

The hosts had taken the day off to ease back into school work, and the sudden lack of boisterous noise was noticeable. Haruhi noticed Kimiko look over her shoulder more than once, and her chef Keizo pouted at the lack of work. Even Gyo, her chauffer—who wasn’t even inside most of the time—commented on the sudden quiet.

If this was what it was like after less than a week, then Haruhi didn’t want to find out what it would be like once they had finally paid off their debt.

On Friday, Haruhi went to her meeting with Yoshio Ootori. But to everyone else, she was going to a meeting with Toichi Sota.

Toichi Sota was the head of a competing law firm, but while his company refused to serve anyone who was not of the higher class, the Fujioka’s were happy to go to court for anyone, though they were definitely marketed towards those who did not have as high of an income. Despite this major difference in viewpoint, the companies got along okay. Or perhaps it would be better phrased as they simply stayed on their own end of the spectrum and tried to come in contact with the other as little as possible.

Mr. Ootori, no matter what you personally thought of him, did his research, and he did it well. The Fujioka Law Firm had recently had an influx of well-known costumers, and Haruhi had planned to schedule a meeting to make sure the situation did not turn bloody. But since she was not the CEO, no matter how much she acted like it at times, it would be her father who did the real debating at a later date.

Grudgingly, Haruhi acknowledge the intelligence of such a decision. He had even managed to schedule it at a time where the host club—who asked enough questions to make a person go insane at the best of times—were conveniently not there. Her other employees were too used to both her and her father going to meetings to ask any more questions than a mere half-heated, “Who are you going to see this time?”

The sent car would raise a bit more suspicion, but the other option was to let her chauffer see where she was going—and it wasn’t Mr. Sota’s house.

At least, that’s what Haruhi assumed. Mr. Ootori had been frustratingly vague.

_But it’s no use complaining. Either way, I’m finding out today._

. . . o0o . . .

It was a run-down pasty shop.

A well-mannered, good-tasting, out-of-place pastry shop, but run-down all the same. The lime green paint was chipping off at the corners, a dusty sort of brown replacing them, and the wooden tables were so old they had gone past rough and were smooth again. The only seats were four circular ones that had cushions full of tears and the yellow stuffing poking out. They stood next to the black desk where people ordered their food, its surface missing a cash register. All in all, her pencil skirt looked out of place next to the painting of a cartoon frog saying, “Don’t be pasty; eat our pastries!”

Mr. Ootori was the sole attendee in the shop, save herself, and while the way he sat demanded respect, it was his eyes—judging and blank all in one—that made Haruhi want to run and bolt.

“Please sit,” Mr. Ootori asked, gesturing to the seat beside him. Haruhi sat gratefully, glad for the opportunity to hide her shaking legs—logically speaking nothing was going to happen, but her body seemed insistent on remembering how little a reason Yoshio had to call this meeting, especially with all this secrecy. She placed her hands firmly in her lap before they could start tapping annoyingly on the table.

“Tea?” he asked, and Haruhi realized a small platter of cookies and samplings of tea were sitting on the table. She reluctantly released her hands to pick up one of the light brown treats, only for it to crumble in her hand, leaving only a small piece behind. If Mr. Ootori was surprised he didn’t show it.

“Do you know what this place is?” he asked calmly, and after a moment Haruhi responded.

“I have never been here, or heard of it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Just as well. It’s going to be demolished tomorrow.”

Haruhi blinked as her brain registered this new information.

“Will you be the one demolishing it?” she asked once her eyes had swept over the room, taking in the dusty corners and peeling paint.

“Indeed,” Mr. Ootori nodded. “I occasionally visit said places to say goodbye, so to speak. Now, can you think of why I could be telling you this?”

 _To tell me what will happen to my company if I don’t go along with whatever your plan is,_ Haruhi thought immediately. _To show off your power. To highlight how inexperienced I am. To point out that no one will think of this as odd._

“I can think of a few reasons.”

Mr. Ootori nodded, giving Haruhi the oddest impression she had pleased him, before continuing.

“Very good. Now, I’m sorry to rush things, but we have a limited amount of time and I didn’t ask you out here to drink tea. It has come to my attention that you have recently acquired some new members of staff, and not out of necessity.” Ootori spoke easily, calmly, the words of a man who knew without a doubt his words were true. Haruhi did not nod, and instead folded a napkin that was on her lap curtly.

“I suppose it’s pointless asking who you gained that information from?” she asked when it became obvious he would not continue until she spoke. On the tip of her tongue were accusations of spying and perhaps questions as to why, but Haruhi did not voice them, instead letting them rest there for a time better suited.

“Quite,” Mr. Ootori admitted, and here he leaned forwards, making him seem bigger than he already was. “It is my plan to remove the reason for their employment.”

Haruhi blinked, muscles coiling for half a second before she recognized the statement was about the debt and not a half-hidden threat.

“I apologize,” she stated concisely, eyeing the older man carefully “but that is not possible.”

But far from being upset as she had expected, Mr. Ootori smiled slyly, giving him to look of someone who knew too much.

“Oh?” he asked airily. “Not even for just one of them?”

Haruhi’s eyebrows crinkled, wondering why—

_was staring at her coolly, and she wondered for a second if he was rich_

—and then she understood, and her own secret smile lit her face.

“I apologize again Mr. Ootori, but I’m afraid your son will have to pay off his debt alone.”

Mr. Ootori rose a single eyebrow, saying, “Akito is currently at medical school, and Yuuichi is working his shift at the hospital, so I’m afraid that you are misinformed.”

Once again he spoke in the tones of someone who knew he was correct, with perhaps a subtle tone of confusion at her suggestion, and yet Haruhi just smiled harder and shook her head. An odd sense of calm had come over her, washing away any of her earlier worries.

“My apologizes then. But I’m afraid the contract has already been signed.” There were ways out of contracts, of course, but none that could be done quietly, and with a flourish Haruhi finished her crumbled cookie and excused herself.

. . . o0o . . .

Yoshio Ootori settled himself into the back of his car—an average sedan, to avoid attention—and allowed himself a slight smile of victory.

Of course he knew there was a contract; of course he had let Haruhi know of Kyoya’s parentage; of course everything was falling into place.

Of course, because his plans _never_ failed.


	5. Before the Storm

“HARUHI!” Tamaki’s familiar voice trilled, giving Haruhi just enough time to duck out of the way. Tamaki rammed into the table with an oof.

“My precious daughter!” he exclaimed not a second later, letting go of the spoon his hand had landed on and engulfing her in a much too tight hug, ignoring her struggles. “I missed you so much! Oh, how the hours dragged on, the minutes lagged, the seconds passed with excruciating slowness. But now—”

“Oh, so that’s why you were flirting even more than usual,” Kaoru said intelligently with a nod, and Hikaru added,

“Yeah, I thought you were just desperate.”

Tamaki floundered for an answer, and Haruhi took the chance to try to duck out away. Alas, she was only inches from freedom when Tamaki finally snapped out of his trance and pulled her back, covering her ears. In a carrying whisper, he hissed,

“Shhh! Don’t use that type of language in front of your sister!”

Haruhi wondered if it was too late to call the police on them. She discarded the thought quickly; it would be more troublesome than it was worth. Much like the over-zealous blonde who was currently acting as a pair of earmuffs.

“I’m not their sister,” she said, irritation slipping into her tone. “And you’re not my dad. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“Yes,” Kyoya agreed, Mori and Huni following him leisurely. Evidently, Tamaki and the twins had rushed ahead. “Tamaki, however, is an imbecile who expects people to run after him no matter the reason.”

Tamaki wilted (Haruhi took a moment to appreciate her ear’s new freedom) before letting out a low, pitiful whine.

“Don’t be so mean! Daddy even planned out a bunch of commoner games to play with you, since he was gone so long. I even made a list!”

“Oh, oh, oh, I wanna play! I wanna play!” Huni shouted, jumping up and down excitedly. Mori put a hand on his shoulder, pushing down gently until he was only bouncing on his heels rather than denting the floor. His expression never changed from jubilant, and no one gave it a second glance. Haruhi assumed this was normal commoner behavior.

“We’re here to work,” Mori reminded him, looking wary.

“We can still play!” Huni insisted, the beginning of a pout on his lips. “It’s not like we don’t have breaks.”

“Be that as it may—” Kyoya started, only to look at the plethora of lively faces and sigh instead. “We will play one game, it will last no longer than ten minutes, starting when I stop talking, and it will count as three of our breaks.”

Tamaki and Huni immediately starting screaming in joy, but Kaoru let out a low whistle.

“Three breaks, huh? You’re as unrelenting as usual.”

“Is there a problem with that?” Kyoya asked lightly, but his expression made Kaoru blanch and take a step behind Hikaru, who also took a step back. Hastily, he asked Tamaki,

“H-hey, you said you made a list right? Show it to us.”

“Look,” Haruhi tried to cut in, “thanks for trying, but—”

“It’s right here!” Tamaki cried over her (much to her annoyance) taking a small crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “To save space I even managed to get the entire paper to fit into less than an inch worth of space!”

“Tamaki,” Kyoya growled angrily, his eyebrow twitching, “why is there a piece of tape over it?”

“Because it kept expanding! This way it stays in one spot, really smart, huh?”

“Not when you use an entire tape dispenser.”

“Wow boss,” Kaoru interrupted, stealing the tape-covered ball, “is there even any ideas under all this?”

“You’re even stupider than we thought,” Hikaru added.

“No use at all!” Huni cried, tears in his eyes.

“Well,” Haruhi tried to say again, “since that failed, I guess there’s no use—”

“No!” Tamaki shouted, suddenly so close Haruhi could count his eyelashes. She blinked, about to ask him to move when he continued talking. “I want you to experience the games all of us have played since we were children! You can’t be left out. I won’t allow it!”

“What are you talking about?” Hikaru asked crassly, pulling him away from her roughly. Privately Haruhi wondered what had made him so angry, but Tamaki pulled him into a half-hug so quickly she wrote it off as just another commoner thing. There were tears in his eyes as Tamaki proclaimed for all to hear,

“The rich force their children away from all games and toys, making them work and work in order to one day inherit their company. Haruhi has never played the common games we know: hide-and-seek, tag, hopscotch, not even—not even ki-kick the—kick the—not even—”

Tamaki couldn’t even speak through his tears. The look he was giving Haruhi was utterly pitiful, but the only thing she felt was annoyance.

_This has gone on long enough._

“Look, I already—”

“That’s so sad for Haru!” Huni suddenly cried out.

“What!”

“Boss’s ideas _are_ stupid,” Kaoru mentioned speculatively, “but Haruhi still must have had a lot of pressure on her. I can’t imagined she had a lot of time to play games.”

“Don’t say that as if it’s logical!” Haruhi snapped, her stomach swirling uncomfortably. She could’ve stayed silent for all the good it did.

“People with inheritance are, statistically speaking, expected to do more at a younger age than people lacking said inheritance,” Kyoya added, looking at what Haruhi assumed to be said statistics.

_Why would he even have those—?_

“Wait, I—”

“That’s stupid!”

“Who made up that dumb rule?”

“We have to play now.”

“Tamaki’s list isn’t useful at all though.”

“We can look up some on the internet.”

“And we can eat some cake afterward!”

“Would you all just—” _listen_ , Haruhi was going to say, but a large weight on her shoulder stopped her. Everyone around her grew silent.

“Is it true?” Mori asked, brown eyes looking so intensely into hers that she could no longer find any words. Her cheeks grew warm.

Desperately she looked around for help, but even Kyoya had risen an eyebrow in curiosity. Tamaki was still teary eyed, with Huni not far behind, and Kaoru looked indignant. Mori was frowning in a mixture of worry and concern that was still much too close to her face, and Hikaru looked ready to yell.

 _You’ve_ got _to be kidding me. I could tell them I wasn’t given food if I didn’t work hard enough and they would believe me._

Trying hard to reign in equally her irritation and embarrassment, Haruhi sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Mori may have asked, but it was obvious that the host club had already accepted their version of events as fact. Nothing she said would, or even could, change their minds.

“I’m going to my room to call my gardener.”

“Hikaru, Kaoru,” Tamaki ordered in short, sharp tones, and Haruhi found her feet suddenly a few feet from the floor.

“Wha—HEY!”

But it was no use, and by the time the world was no longer blurry Haruhi was sitting on a comfortable stuffed chair as the rules of hide and seek were explained to her. All her protests and any of her struggles were obsolete, but she made one last valiant attempt to get out of the situation.

“Look, I already know—hey, are you even listening to me?” Haruhi shouted. In the precious few seconds she had taken to gather her surroundings the host club had already gotten into an argument over which game to start first.

“It would be best to simply let them go at this point,” Kyoya mentioned from behind her. Haruhi startled. She hadn’t noticed he wasn’t with the others.

“But I already know how to play these games,” she pointed out petulantly after a moment’s hesitation.

“Be that as it may, nothing short of a miracle could convince _them_ of that at this point. Besides, they have already wasted half of their ten minutes arguing, and three less breaks for everyone will make paying off the vase go much quicker. And while your company is of no doubt fascinating, it would be much more pleasurable to have it without the threat of debt over our heads. ”

_No wonder he didn’t try to dissuade them more: he really is like a politician. Or maybe a shadow king . . ._

Deciding that if she couldn’t stop the train wreck waiting to happen she may as well get it over with, Haruhi made sure to make her steps loud enough to hear as she walked over to the host club. Disappointingly, they didn’t get the point.

“Tamaki,” Haruhi called out. He immediately stopped drawing something illegible on the white board he had somehow accumulated. An earnest smile lit his face and she took the moment to remind herself that, annoying as he could be, he was trying to help. She didn’t bother to soften her tongue, however.

“You already wasted five minutes,” she began bluntly, “so hurry up and pick a game to play. I don’t want to have to listen to you whining all day.”

“Hide-and-seek!” Huni cried out joyfully as Tamaki mimicked a dying flower.

“Alright, we’ll play that. You can decide who’s going to search. Just hurry up so you don’t run out of time.”

With that, Haruhi left the room, leaving them to decide the seeker. It didn’t matter to her; the quicker this was over with the better. She didn’t even bother finding a suitable hiding place, instead walking to the same area that the Chinese vase had broken and sitting between the white console table and a painting of a cliff’s edge. There was already a new (less expensive) ornamental decoration in its place, but the red vase still sat in its place of honor. The only difference was that Haruhi had taken to pushing it closer to the wall every time she walked by.

Haruhi glanced at her watch, seeing there was only four more minutes to the game. She wondered if time could go by any faster.

_Tamaki will probably end up throwing a fit if we don’t finish a full game, so it’ll be best if everyone picks easy spots and are found quickly. Kyoya will probably make him stop anyway, in any case._

_. . . Kyoya’s a bit of an enigma, isn’t he?_

After Haruhi’s talk with Yoshio, the short ride back to her house was spent panicking. The calm that had washed over her vanished, and she spent a decent amount of the ride back convinced she had ruined everything. It would be almost too easy for Yoshio to ruin their stock market. She had worked herself into a state of paranoia by the time she got to her house, but the host club had already arrived, and before Haruhi knew it she had forgotten about it in the frenzy that was keeping up with their newest scheme.

The headache she had by the end of the day made her fall asleep before her head had even hit the pillow, and she hadn’t had a moment alone since. But there was no one here now, and her thoughts automatically shifted towards the notebook toting brunette.

Haruhi kept getting an odd, twisting feeling in her stomach whenever she thought of him. Not only was she conflicted over his parentage (Not only was he older, but he was also of higher status, and yet he was also poor and indebted to her. Haruhi’s mind couldn’t decide whether she thought of him as a senpai or not.) but she was also conflicted on whether to tell Kyoya about aforementioned parentage.

The obvious answer was yes. It was Kyoya’s family and he had a right to know. But what proof did she have, exactly? She couldn’t exactly walk up to him and say,

_“Hey Kyoya? Your parents are the owners of a major corporation that probably has more money than all of Ouran put together. The academy, that is, not the public school. How do I know? Well he had a suspicious conversation with me. Oh, you found a new job and you’re quitting? Alright.”_

Logically Haruhi knew he wouldn’t quit, if only to keep the others in line, but it was still what she feared would happen. Except it wasn’t really fear, more of an apprehension. What she feared was Kyoya believing her.

Haruhi didn’t know much about orphanages, but she knew that statistically orphans were more likely to develop problems later in life. Kyoya didn’t seem like the type to have any problems ever, but hadn’t her father mentioned he had been caught blackmailing before? Haruhi still had no plans to read any of their files, but it was worth noting. Frankly, she was more surprised he was caught than anything else.

Regardless, being told the parents that had given you up were wealthy enough to own the orphanage you lived at probably wouldn’t be the best feeling in the world. And Tamaki would well-meaningfully push them together, but Haruhi was sure that would end up terribly. Yoshio was known for his cruelness. It was more likely he would deny anything. Haruhi would seem like a liar.

But did that give her the right to stay silent?

Haruhi knew, without a doubt, that if their situations were reversed Haruhi would want Kyoya to tell her. She preferred brutal honesty to any sort of lie, and it came across in everything she did. No matter how political the conversation, her blunt remarks still managed to come through. She filtered what she could. Some things she simply didn’t consider blunt, and others unfortunately did. It was one of the reason she made such an effort to make people like her: it made them more likely to forgive her slip ups.

If she was a commoner Haruhi wouldn’t have even hesitated. She would have told Kyoya, lack of evidence be damned. But Haruhi was not a commoner. She was rich. As such, her decisions would not only reflect onto herself, but her family as well.

Kotoko Fujioka had spent too long trying to make The Fujioka Law Firm the best it could be for Haruhi to ruin it with some mindless comment.

 _I’m sorry Kyoya_ , Haruhi thought, feeling the words like a weight in her stomach, _but I promise if I ever find hard-core proof I’ll tell you._

She felt cheap deciding such a thing, but the memory of her mother kept her decision solid. Her stomach continued to feel like stones.

Five minutes had probably passed. The game of tag should be over by now. Haruhi started to get up.

“Haruhi?” asked a familiar voice. It was her father, dressed in the suit he always wore for meetings.

“Yeah?” Haruhi answered. Since he wasn’t in a dress it was probably something important he had to talk about.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?”

“Hmm? Oh, Tamaki decided to teach me how to play hide-and-seek.”

“. . . You already know how to, though.”

“Tamaki isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.”

As if called to protect his dignity, it was exactly that moment that Tamaki ran down the hall.

“Haruhi!” he called happily. “My dearest daughter, I finally found—”

His voice was cut off as Ranka yanked him away roughly. Glaring, Ranking forced Tamaki’s eyes to meet his.

“You. Are. Not. Her. Father. You never were, and you never will be. I am, and no one is going to take my place.” Ranka pushed him away, his murderous expression immediately covered with one of faux innocence. “Besides, any _real_ father of Haruhi would know that she already knew how to play hide-and-seek. What, did you think I neglected her or something?”

Tamaki’s faltering face was enough of an answer for Ranka. Haruhi noticed the rest of the host club starting to filter in through the doorway.

_When you think about it, they’re always following Tamaki, no matter how dumb he seems. I wonder why._

“B-but Haruhi—she’s always working and—”

“Haruhi works because Haruhi is just that type of person,” Ranka continued nonchalantly, but Haruhi saw the way he smiled nastily at Tamaki. “She hates not doing anything and it has nothing to do with you. I was always the one pulling her away from her books so she _could_ play those types of games: not pushing her away from them.”

“I-I—”

“Now Haruhi, your _real_ father has to talk to you. I’ll be waiting for you in your work room. Try not to get any ticks,” here he glared at Tamaki, clearly showing who he thought she would catch it from, “before you get up there.”

With that, Haruhi’s father elegantly swept out of the hall. Haruhi sighed. Why did her dad have to be so petty?

By now the host club members were right behind Tamaki, and Hikaru was cautiously poking at him to see if he would react. But Tamaki remained motionless on the ground, tears leaking from his eyes. Haruhi’s dad had outdone himself. If he applied this much to his actual work, Haruhi would be moved up to Class A with no problem. But no, he only made her sort-of friends regret their entire life. How annoying.

“If it helps,” Haruhi offered unsurely, kneeling down next to Tamaki, “most people who are rich actually don’t play those types of games that often.”

“Really?” Kaoru asked, sounding curious. “Then why do you know?”

Haruhi blinked, once again reminded that the host club—as commoners—didn’t feel the need to do intense research on everyone they ever met.

“Well, my mother was a commoner, of course.”

. . . o0o . . .

 **A/N 11/13/15** : Sorry! This is really late. I am participating in NaNoWriMo, so the next chapter should have a shorter wait. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations.

The note about Class A is actually really interesting; Ouran Academy classes are based on two things: grade and lineage. Haruhi (obviously) has the best grades, but her lineage keeps her from being in the best class. I think that really says something about Ouran, even if in the anime it’s usually portrayed as happy and go-free.


	6. How it Begins

At six in the morning Haruhi’s phone rang clearly throughout the room. She froze, hairbrush halfway through her hair. Her mind rushed towards the last time it had rung at such an odd time.

_Mr. Ootori—_

She hurriedly reached for her phone, fumbling slightly before she managed to get it out of her pocket. Her eyes frantically tried to scan the caller I.D., but in her haste the hairbrush—still stuck in her knotty hair—swung around and hit her temple.

“Ow!” she exclaimed, reaching up to grab her forehead. Swallowing a curse, she forced her eyes to the screen. Immediately her body relaxed, only to tense a second later in irritation.

“What do you want Tamaki?” Haruhi sighed, flipping the phone open. His shift didn’t start for another two hours.

“The inspector’s coming!” Tamaki screamed, and Haruhi yanked the phone away from her ear. His loud voice could still be heard easily. “I need a place to keep Antoinette because she’s not allowed to be here but I’ve had her forever and I can’t give her up and I need help and the twin’s mom is allergic, Mori isn’t picking up, Hani is teaching a self-defense class, Kyoya is distracting the inspector to give me time to get her away and HELP ME!”

Haruhi blinked, her mind struggling to translate the long run-on sentence into something she could understand. Tamaki was still panicking, and surprisingly Haruhi had never heard him talk so quickly. He sounded close to tears.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Haruhi finally managed to call out. “Who are you talking about?” Tamaki didn’t seem like the type, but the way he was phrasing it made her question what exactly he was roping Haruhi into . . .

“My dog!” he exclaimed. “We’re not allowed to have them at the orphanage and I wouldn’t usually ask you but no one else is picking up. I promise I’ll watch her and you won’t even have to see her, I promise, just please let her stay the day at your house. Please, please, please, please, I can’t imagine what would happen if I lost her, she’s always been with me.”

“Tamaki,” Haruhi groaned, massaging her head. There was already a steady thrum pounding behind her eyes.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out. “I know this is last minute and probably really frustrating and I’m sorry, but I really can’t think of anyone else and you kind of owe me for not mentioning your mom anyway. Please!”

There was a definite note of panic in his voice now, and Haruhi could just imagine the tears welling up in his eyes. It was just like him to get so emotional over a simple pet.

“I would’ve told you about my mom if you had asked,” Haruhi began, irritated. “But that’s not the point. Look, just get out of the building if you can. I’m going to call someone else and then call right back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay . . .” Tamaki said, sounding fearful and dejected. Haruhi’s stomach twinged in pity.

“Look, it’ll be alright, okay? Your dog will be fine one way or another.”

There was silence on the other line, until Tamaki’s voice came back on, oddly quiet.

“Thank you Haruhi,” he said seriously. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“It’s fine. I’ll call you back in a minute.”

Quickly, Haruhi hung up and dialed another number.

“Hello? Mrs. Kurakano, I know you don’t usually come in today, but I was wondering if . . .”

. . . o0o . . .

Tamaki tackled Haruhi as soon as he saw her, spewing out countless thank yous, and for once Haruhi allowed it. But when a large, golden dog leaped at her as well, she decided that social niceties only went so far and tossed them both off.

“That’s enough!” she exclaimed. The two shared twin looks of dismay. It was that moment that Tamaki noticed Mrs. Kurakano.

“Oh! Hello, miss. I’m terribly sorry for being so rude and ignoring you, but I was so overwhelmed with joy at not losing my dog I was blind in my happiness.”

Kurakano laughed, pushing at Tamaki’s shoulder. She was an old women with greying hair and a hunch, but she could run faster than most of the kids Haruhi knew. Her brown eyes could look as warm as honey or cold as steel if the occasion called for it. Few people made the mistake of underestimating her; something in the way she stood—as if she knew exactly where she was supposed to be and was already there—made you want to respect her. Even Ranka referred to her as Mrs. Kurakano instead of just Kurakano.

“Don’t worry about it dear, it’s always a delight to meet someone who doesn’t call me old before they know my name.” The women said it with simple happiness, but Tamaki gasped so loudly it sounded fake. He grasped her hands dramatically, and Haruhi sighed.

“Of course not! How could anyone judge such a wonderful maiden on her age? Age is but a number, and surely you must be stout of character if you work for Haruhi and aren’t insulted! An amazing feat: even I, myself, have yet to achieve it!”

“Hey!” Haruhi shouted, but Kurakano laughed and Tamaki didn’t seem to realize the insult. “Look, this is my gardener, Mrs. Kurakano. She’s going to be looking after your dog today.”

“Eh? But I thought I was going to . . .”

“Don’t be stupid,” Haruhi said, putting a bit more bite into the words than necessary. “If you do that, how are you supposed to pay back your debt? Besides, it’s more convenient this way. Mrs. Kurakano usually comes twice a week anyway.”

“Oh, alright then,” Tamaki said cheerfully, before his face once again relapsed into confusion. “But wait, you said she was a gardener.”

“She is.”

“But . . . it’s January.”

“And?” asked Haruhi, confused.

“I’ll handle this one, hun,” Kurakano spoke up, patting Haruhi’s hand. “The Fujiokas have a greenhouse, but don’t exactly have a green thumb to go with it, if you catch my drift. I come over in the winter to take care of it.”

“Wasn’t that obvious?” Haruhi asked rhetorically, but Tamaki shook his head anyway.

“Ah,” Tamaki said to Kurakano, “well in that case I must thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to care for Antoinette—” Antoinette jerked up at the mention of her name, and tackled Tamaki before the rest of the words left his mouth. Kurakano laughed, and Haruhi decided that she could handle them for the moment. Probably.

Either way, she should probably change out of the silken nightgown she was wearing.

. . . o0o . . .

“So if I get a pet, I get bring it here?” Hikaru asked later, after the host club had all arrived.

“No,” Haruhi said bluntly. “Antoinette is only staying for today, and only because there was no other choice. What exactly happened, by the way? Tamaki was too emotional for me to bother trying to get a straight answer out of.” Currently he was playing with Antoinette, as Haruhi had given up trying to get him to actually work.

“Of course he was,” Hikaru snorted, but a fond smile played on his lips. Kyoya spoke up to explain.

“As we live in an orphanage, the government occasionally sends people to make sure that everything is going smoothly. Normally Mrs. Takada—the head caretaker—will warn Tamaki in advance so he can take Antoinette away, but today was a surprise visit. I had to distract them while Tamaki sneaked away with Antoinette.” Kyoya scowled as he said this, annoyed.

“Eh?” Huni asked. “But didn’t she end up offering to write a recommendation letter if you ever needed one for college?”

“That may be true,” admitted Kyoya, though the frown didn’t leave his face, “however due to Tamaki’s rashness I ended up being more resilient than I would have liked.”

“But you still got it,” Mori pointed out, and Kyoya acquiesced with a nod.

“Ne,” Huni suddenly piped up, turning to Haruhi. “What did your dad want yesterday?”

“Hmm? Oh, he just wanted to remind me about the party we throw every year.”

“Party?” Kaoru asked jokingly. “Are we invited?”

Haruhi frowned thoughtfully. “You may be there as servants, but I haven’t decided yet. I never really hired too many people to give out food, so it would be suspicious if six people are suddenly there.”

“Suspicious,” Haruhi saw Kaoru mouth to himself curiously, but she forgot it as her phone rang. Quickly, she excused herself and left the room—the host club could, and would, listen in and interrupt her conversations. She still had to send chocolates to Kasumi.

“Hello?” she asked, once the host club was far enough away.

“Haruhi?” her father asked. Haruhi blinked. Ranka usually slept during the day, so it was odd for him to call her so early in the morning. Even more than that, Ranka had called her work phone, which he rarely did. The last time she could remember it happening was for her mother’s death.

“Yes? Did something happen?”

“Absolutely! Guess what it is!”

“No.” The worry in her stomach floated away. Obviously it wasn’t too important if her dad was joking like this.

“Aww,” Ranka whined, and Haruhi could hear the pout on his lips. “Come on, just one guess!”

“I said no, just tell me.”

“Fiiiine,” her dad complained, but his tone was faintly pleased. Obviously, he had wanted to share the news himself.

“You’ve been moved up in school!” he exclaimed.

“Wha—really?”

“Yes! The school has finally realized your amazing intelligence and decided to move you up to Class B. You should be in Class A,” his tone turned annoyed, but it was quickly washed away, “but that’s nothing new. I can’t believe it! My precious daughter has finally been recognized for her outstanding amazingness. Oh, I could sing—”

“Please don’t,” Haruhi cut in. Her mind was swirling. Unlike most schools, Ouran Academy’s classes were based both on grades and political standing. It was the worst kept secret in the school, but everyone pretended to not know about it. Ranka wasn’t lying when he said she should be in Class A.

Currently—or rather, yesterday—Haruhi had been at the top of Class C. She could have been at the bottom of Class B, if she had been willing to dumb herself down, but her pride bristled at such an idea. Her I.Q. hadn’t changed, but neither had the Fujioka Law Firm had any sudden increase of popularity. So why . . .?

 _Kyoya!_ Haruhi’s mind suddenly thought with a flash. But no, that didn’t make sense. Chairman Suoh wouldn’t have any idea of Kyoya’s parentage—even if Haruhi was right with her guess. The Suoh and Ootori families did not have prominent connections, so it didn’t make sense for Yuzuru to know. Perhaps Yoshio had called in a favor? Yet that seemed like such a juvenile move for the man to make. It was like screaming to the world that he had an interest in Haruhi.

“—so wonderful and—Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Ranka’s twittering voice suddenly broke through her thoughts. He must have started talking again at some point.

“Sorry dad, I’m just surprised.”

“Well, I’m not,” Ranka said firmly. “Even an idiot can tell how intelligent you are. You work harder than almost anyone else in that school; you deserve this. Don’t overthink it Haruhi.”

“Alright,” she agreed easily. Arguing with him only lead to frustration for all parties involved. But he had a point. There was no reason for her mind to go in circles trying to find answers she didn’t have. “Is that all?”

“Yeah, but remember that I love you! And stay away from that tick, I really need to get an exterminator to check out our mansion.”

“Bye dad,” Haruhi said with a roll of her eyes. The day he uttered Tamaki’s name would be a cold day in hell.

. . . o0o . . .

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” Kyoya asked later, when the host club was busy with their individual chores and Haruhi was checking over her winter break homework. She looked up curiously, following Kyoya’s gaze and seeing Tamaki chasing Antoinette.

“Tell me what?”

“Antoinette was a present from his parents.”

“Huh?” Haruhi exclaimed, eyes widening. “But I thought—”

“Both of us are orphans, but when Tamaki was five he was sent that dog as a gift. He’s convinced it was from his parents.”

“Oh,” Haruhi mouthed quietly. Tamaki’s reaction seemed much less exurbent now.

_Geez, and I treated it as if it was just another one of his fits . . ._

“Why didn’t he tell me that?”

“Tamaki, for all his foolishness, doesn’t like worrying others. He most likely didn’t want to guilt you into taking in Antionette.”

“That’s stupid!” Haruhi exclaimed. “No one can make a decision if they don’t have all the facts. Tamaki shouldn’t have to hide something like that.”

Kyoya gave her a searching look, and she looked defiantly up at him.

“Yes, I rather agree with you there. But it’s in Tamaki’s very nature to protect others.” Haruhi opened her mouth again, disliking how Kyoya made it seem like they had no chance in the matter, but didn’t get a chance. “We, as his friends, must return the favor.”

And just like that, the anger seeped out of Haruhi. Her eyes were automatically drawn to the hyperactive blonde. He was being chased by Antoinette, looking so happy and care-free you would never guess he had called Haruhi earlier that day in tears.

“You’re not nearly as cold as you pretend to be,” Haruhi told Kyoya, but her gaze never left the blond through the window.

. . . o0o . . .

Haruhi had walked to the green house in the hopes of talking to Tamaki—possibly asking why he hadn’t told her anything—but Mrs. Kurakano intercepted her on the way. Evidentially she had wrestled Antoinette away from Tamaki, as the dog was laying in her lap.

“How are you, by the way?” she asked genially. “Not too stressed? I know this time of year can get a bit hectic for you.”

“I’m fine,” Haruhi said with a smile. “Thank you for your concern. I never thought that having six more employers would make everything harder though.”

Mrs. Kurakano laughed, jostling Antoinette.

“Eh, don’t be too hard on them. They try their best. Tamaki kept insisting on staying with his dog until the tall one and small one—can’t remember their names—came to get him. Even then they had to practically pull him away.”

“That’s Mori and Huni—er, well, I suppose you would call them Takashi and Mitsukuni.”

“They seemed nice,” the gardener mentioned. “Pretty sure Tamaki will be back before the end of the day though. Don’t really see the need for me to be here with the ruckus he’s putting up to stay with his dog.”

Haruhi was half tempted to roll her eyes at that, but the conversation she had with Kyoya kept her thoughts at bay. It was odd to think of Tamaki’s eccentricities actually having some sort of depth to them.

Antoinette perked her head up, as if smelling something odd, but a few pats from Kurakano calmed him down.

“He really is a sweet little thing,” the gardener mentioned in her wizened old voice. “And the dog is too! Hahaha.”

“Yeah,” Haruhi agreed, going to rub his ears when she noticed something. Blinking, she flipped over the dog’s ear.

There was an odd shape there. At first it appeared to just be a black smudge, but if you looked closer you saw it was a birthmark. It appeared to be a four legged animal, but an anvil laid over it, giving it the grotesque image of an animal being stabbed. It was oddly elaborate, but before Haruhi could study it closer Antoinette shrugged her hand off and ran off. Mrs. Kurakano laughed again.

“That dog has more energy than I have years left! Welp, better go after her before something bad happens. It was nice talking to ya, Haru.” Here she paused, clearly questioning whether to keep going or not. Eventually, she continued. “Ya know, the older you get the more you remind me of your mother.”

Haruhi smiled sweetly, partly to mask the fact that she didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t the first time someone had compared her to her mother, but Haruhi never knew how to respond. Thanking them was uniform, but always seemed so bland and inauthentic. Luckily, Kurakano took the choice away from her as she started to chase after Antoinette.

Alone now, Haruhi dropped her smile. It wasn’t exactly a lie when she had told Kurakano that she was fine, but it was far from the truest thing she had ever said. The host club’s antics constantly pulled her away from the planning, and she always had to rush at the end of the day to catch up with what she had set out to do. True, she threw the party every year, but that didn’t make it less stressful. Nothing could afford to be imperfect.

“Mrs. Fujioka?” a guard asked, and Haruhi lifted her head. She had forgotten how close to the greenhouse she had been.

“Yes?”

“. . . If the six are really making things that hard for you—”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s not them. The party planning is just a bit much. It should pass soon, it’s just I’m still adjusting to it. I’ll be fine within the week.”

“You sure?”

“Of course,” Haruhi said with a sugar sweet smile. “This happens every year. I’ll be fine soon.”

“Alright,” the guard said unsurely, stepping back into his post by the greenhouse door.

Making sure to seem untroubled, Haruhi started walking back towards her mansion. The guards were a constant in her life: they went wherever she went. The only place they didn’t follow her was Ouran Academy, which provided its own security. It was easy for them to fade into the background and disappear from memory. Usually that wasn’t a problem.

Except Haruhi—for all her apparent bluntness and rashness—had raised herself to present herself as people expected, while retaining enough of herself that no one realized. Forgetting someone could be dangerous.

In some ways, it already had been.

xXxXxXxXx

**A/N 11/27/15: Hello my wonderful readers! I think this is the fastest I’ve ever updated.** ****

**There are two things I want to address. One, I’m still looking for a beta reader. Two, I’ve noticed something about reviews. Less and less people are reviewing, and there was only one review last chapter. I’m going to keep writing either way, but only getting one review is a bit discouraging. Thank you to** Winter Coma **for reviewing so much. All of your guys reviews can really encourage me, even if it’s just something small saying you like it.**

**That aside, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!**


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